Chapter 16: Unspoken Words

The next morning, Jian found himself staring at the keychain Hana had given him. He held it between his fingers, tracing its delicate edges. The small flower shimmered faintly in the sunlight streaming through his window, and it felt like a piece of Hana was with him, even though they weren't together at the moment.

For the first time in a long while, Jian smiled to himself.

He slipped the keychain onto his bag carefully before heading out for the day.

---

The university felt quieter than usual. The Lunar New Year celebrations had passed, and now everything seemed to settle back into routine. Students hurried to class, the winter air still biting but not unbearable. Jian walked to his art class, hands tucked into his pockets, trying to warm them.

As he entered the art room, the familiar scent of paint and charcoal hit him. It was comforting in its own way. Jian found his usual spot near the back and began setting up his supplies.

"Jian!"

He turned to see Minho, his classmate and one of the few people who ever spoke to him regularly, approaching with a grin. "You look like you've been in a good mood lately. Something happen?"

Jian froze for a moment, unsure of how to respond. He wasn't good at sharing feelings, even with someone as easygoing as Minho. "Nothing… special," he muttered, hoping it would end there.

Minho smirked knowingly. "Oh, come on. You've been walking around with that far-off look, like you're thinking about someone. Is it Hana?"

Jian's heart skipped a beat. "What? No—"

"Ah, gotcha!" Minho laughed, nudging him with his elbow. "Man, I knew it. Everyone sees you two together all the time. She's really nice, huh?"

Jian didn't know how to respond. His cheeks felt warm, so he focused on squeezing paint onto his palette. "We're just… friends."

"Sure, sure," Minho teased, leaning closer. "Well, for what it's worth, you're lucky. I'd give anything to spend time with someone like her. You better not mess it up."

Jian frowned at the comment. "Mess what up?"

Minho shrugged. "You know—whatever's happening between you two. Just saying."

Jian didn't reply, but his mind lingered on Minho's words as class began.

---

Later that afternoon, Jian sat under a tree outside the library, his sketchbook balanced on his knee. He was supposed to be working on an assignment, but instead, his pencil moved aimlessly across the page. Each time he tried to focus, his thoughts wandered back to Hana—her smile, her laugh, the way her eyes sparkled at the festival when they released the lantern.

He glanced at the keychain hanging from his bag. It was a constant reminder of her, and the memory of her words—"It's a little reminder that someone believes in you."

Jian sighed, frustrated with himself. Why couldn't he just say what he felt? Why was it so hard to tell her how much he appreciated her?

"Jian!"

The sound of her voice made him look up instantly. Hana was walking toward him, holding a cup of coffee in each hand. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, and she smiled brightly as she approached.

"Here," she said, handing him one of the cups. "I figured you might need this. It's freezing today."

Jian took the coffee, startled. "You didn't have to—"

"I wanted to," Hana interrupted cheerfully, sitting down on the grass beside him. "What are you working on?"

Jian hesitated, closing the sketchbook halfway. "It's nothing important. Just… drawing."

Hana leaned closer, trying to peek inside. "Let me see!"

"It's not finished," Jian muttered nervously.

Hana laughed softly. "You're always so shy about your art. I bet it's amazing."

"It's not," Jian replied quietly, looking away.

For a moment, there was silence between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Jian could feel her presence beside him—calm, warm, and full of life. He risked a glance at her and noticed she was watching the sky, sipping her coffee contentedly.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked softly, surprising himself.

Hana turned to him, smiling. "Hmm… just how peaceful it feels right now. Sometimes, it's nice to slow down, you know?"

Jian nodded. He understood what she meant. Being with her made the world feel quieter, less heavy.

"Hey, Jian," Hana said suddenly, her tone softer. "I've been meaning to ask… are you okay?"

Jian looked at her, confused. "Why?"

"I don't know. You always seem a little distant, like you're carrying something heavy but you don't want anyone to see it." She paused, searching his face. "I just want you to know that if you ever need to talk, I'm here."

Jian froze. Her words struck something deep inside him, but as usual, he didn't know how to respond. A part of him wanted to open up, to tell her everything about his insecurities and fears. But the words wouldn't come.

Instead, he looked down at his coffee cup. "I'm fine," he murmured. "Thanks for… caring."

Hana gave him a soft smile. "Okay. But remember, you don't always have to be fine."

They sat in silence again, and this time, Jian wished he could freeze the moment forever. The wind rustled the trees above them, and he watched as Hana pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them.

"You're a good friend, Jian," she said quietly, almost as if she was speaking to herself.

Jian's heart sank a little at those words—friend. He didn't know why it bothered him so much, but it did. He wanted to be more than that. He wanted to tell her how important she was to him, how she made everything feel brighter.

But the words stayed locked inside, buried under his shyness.

---

That evening, Jian walked back to his small apartment. The keychain jingled softly as he set his bag down near his desk. He sat at his table, staring at the sketch he had started earlier.

Slowly, he began to add to it. He drew a girl standing under a night sky, surrounded by floating lanterns. The light from the lanterns reflected on her face, making her look both beautiful and distant—like someone he could see but never quite reach.

As he worked, his thoughts spun. He thought about Hana's kindness, her laughter, and the way she always seemed to notice him when no one else did. She was the first person to make him feel seen, and he didn't want to lose that.

But how could he tell her? How could he bridge the gap between what he felt and what he could say?

Jian put down his pencil and sighed deeply.

Outside, the sky was dark, and the streetlights flickered on. Jian leaned back in his chair, staring out the window, feeling both grateful and frustrated at the same time.

"Maybe someday," he whispered to himself.

For now, the keychain Hana had given him sat on his desk, catching the faint light from the window—another reminder of her.